Dedushka
by Lady-of-the-Refrigerator
Summary: "So this associate of yours… Is it going to be one of your bear-hug and cheek-kiss associates or your slammed-door and shotgun associates?" [Season 3A, Lizzington, 7/?]
1. Chapter 1

Liz trailed closely behind Red as they tromped through the slush and snow up towards the main road from the underbrush where they had stashed their car. He'd been tense for hours, ever since he broached the subject of dropping in on an old associate of his while they were in the area. They needed a safe place to stay, he said, and he was reasonably sure the man would let them stay with him for at least a couple days.

It was more than obvious that Red was not looking forward to the prospect, however, even though he was the one who suggested it. Liz could only guess what drama lurked in the history between the two men.

"So this associate of yours… Is it going to be one of your bear-hug and cheek-kiss associates or your slammed-door and shotgun associates?"

Red shrugged. "Somewhere in between, most likely."

"What's the matter, then? You seem… off."

"Do I?" he said flatly, and caught hold of her hand to steady her when she slipped on an icy patch in the road as they crossed it.

"What happened, did you sleep with his wife? Cheat him out of a small fortune?"

He came to a stop at the edge of the road, and stared off into the distance with a pinched look on his face. "He… blames me for his daughter's death."

A strained moment passed while Liz considered the obvious next question and Red waited expectantly for her to inevitably ask it.

And she had to ask, even if she didn't truly want to; she had to hear it from his own lips, rather than relying on the supposition that his choice of words implied an answer in the negative. Liz was, of course, at a distinct disadvantage while they were on the run, being somewhat at the mercy of Red's contacts without having a working knowledge of their loyalties or resentments. She needed to know what she was walking into here.

"Did you kill her?"

Red shoved his hands in his pockets and turned back to face her. "No," he said. "No, I didn't."

Liz held his gaze, half-haunted as it was, and nodded stiffly in acknowledgement. He offered her a tight-lipped twitch of a smile in return.

They made the rest of their trek up to the old house in silence. Once they reached the front door, Red hesitated a moment with his fist raised before he rapped his knuckles against the worn wood.

"It might be better if you stay over there, out of the line of fire. Just in case."

"But I thought you said—"

Just then, the door began to swing open and Liz backed up reflexively, doing as Red asked. An elderly man took half a step onto the porch, instantly on the defensive. And angry.

He jabbed an accusing finger at Red's chest. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Dom," Red said, his voice unexpectedly rough, holding his hands up in front of him, empty and nonthreatening. "I apologize for showing up without some kind of advance notice, but—"

"You have a lot of nerve…" Liz decided to step into Dom's line of sight before things could get out of control, and he gave a sharp intake of breath. Then his eyes hardened in suspicion. After an uncomfortably long moment, he tore his gaze away from Liz to glare at Red.

"What are you playing at, Reddington?"

"Nothing, Dom, nothing. But we could use a place to stay for a few days. I'm sure you watch the news."

"The news, yeah. But I didn't need to watch it, did I? I already knew that Masha Rostova was still alive; I may be one of the only people in the world who did."

"I'm sorry. Do you know me?"

Dom pinned Red with a disapproving look. "So you didn't tell her. Guess it's reassuring to know you're just as much of a coward as you've always been."

Liz shifted warily across the porch until she stood shoulder to shoulder with Red.

"Red, _what the hell is going on?_ " she whispered, hissing out of the corner of her mouth.

"I suppose some introductions are in order. Dom, this is, uh, well…" He trailed off, a hand hanging awkwardly as he made an abortive gesture towards her. "And Lizzy, this is Dom. Your grandfather."

That last word hit Liz like a physical blow to the solar plexus. It was only a few syllables and yet all of the breath left her lungs in a blink. Her head swam.

This man was her grandfather? How on earth could that be true?

"Excuse me? My what?"

"Your grandfather. Your mother's father."

"I can't believe this. I have a living grandfather and you never—"

"Maybe we should continue this inside?" Red interrupted, much to Liz's annoyance. "The closest neighbor is a good ways away, but—"

"Fine," Dom said, and stormed off into the old house as fast as his achy, elderly frame would carry him. Red motioned for Liz to go in ahead of him, but she grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him with her, on the off chance he had the bright idea of trying to avoid this particular confrontation.

Her grandfather.

She had a _grandfather_.


	2. Chapter 2

Liz didn't really know what it meant to have a grandfather. Sam's father was dead long before she came to live with him and while he spoke fondly of him, that was the extent of her experience. Sam was her father and she loved him with every fiber of her being, but Sam's parents were simply that— _his_ parents—far more than they were her grandparents.

As a child, she spent hours poring over Sam's old photo albums searching for a hint of a connection, but she felt very little. She just couldn't shake the notion that there was nothing tying her to the people in the old, yellowing photographs _but_ Sam—not a shared drop of blood between them. She wanted to be able to look at the curves and lines of those unfamiliar faces and find traces of features similar to her own, but of course there were none. If she had ever had the opportunity to have known those people, perhaps none of that would have mattered, but she never had that chance. It wasn't exactly fair, but it was how she felt at the time.

Now, this man Dom _was_ her grandfather and all those things she could never find in the strangers from Sam's photographs she might very well be able to find in the stranger in front of her. Were those perhaps her eyes, she wondered? Was that a version of her jaw, two generations back? And was that what she looked like when she churned with quiet, seething anger? With resentment?

(She could ask Red. He apparently had experience being on the receiving end of those emotions from both of them.)

The trio gathered in Dom's front room, standing in painful, awkward silence until Dom himself broke it.

"Well, you're here. I don't understand what you think you're gonna find that you couldn't find just as easily in some no-tell motel in the middle of nowhere, but I guess that didn't stop you."

"I'd like to think we might be able to get a decent night sleep for once, knowing no one here is about to call the authorities on us as soon as we've turned our backs," Red said. "And I hoped that even if our visit was unexpected, you would appreciate the chance to spend time with your granddaughter."

"Don't try to pass this off as you wanting to do something positive for me. You only came here this way because you knew I couldn't say no!"

A beat passed in silence; Red's cheek twitched. "Technically, that wasn't the _only_ reason, but—"

"Oh, I've had about enough of you and this goddamn 'technical honesty' bit of yours. You think it excuses so much—"

"We can squabble about my motivations until the cows come home," Red said, cutting him off. "Sure, I didn't do you any favors coming here, but my god, man—you're not doing yourself any favors if you refuse to take advantage of this opportunity. The only thing that matters is that we're here now, and this is your _granddaughter_ , Dom. Are you really going to turn her away?"

Dom folded his arms petulantly. "You're an ass, Reddington."

"Lovely. Something we can agree on."

"I'm not set up for guests. You _know_ I'm not set up for guests."

"You have a couch? Some extra blankets?"

"Fine. You can stay on one condition: she and I are going to talk, and when we do, I get to tell her whatever the hell I want to tell her. And I get to do it alone." Red looked like he was going to object but Dom interrupted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You come here like this, you're going to have to trust my discretion."

"It'll be OK, Red. Maybe it's better this way. Get some things out in the open."

Red clenched his jaw. "Fine," he bit out.

"If you think I'm going to paint you in a good light, you have another thing coming."

"I'd expect nothing less, Dom," Red said, inclining his head in deference. "All right. So. I'll go get our things from the car and set us up in the living room. I'm sure you'll find something to talk about while I'm gone."

"Don't break anything," Dom said, as Red turned to leave.

Red's back stiffened and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but he gave a heavy sigh and walked away instead, shaking his head.

And with that, Liz and Dom were alone. She had about a thousand questions spinning around in her head, so many that they were making her dizzy, unsettling her stomach. She didn't know where she should start or whether she would be prepared for the answers once she did. This just wasn't an opportunity she ever expected to have. Never in a million years did she think she had a living grandparent. Hell, outside of wishful thinking, she didn't believe she had any living relatives at all.

"Hey, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for springing this on you. If I had known what Reddington was planning to do, I would have told him not to…" Liz trailed off, the polite reassurances feeling false and bitter on her tongue. "You know what? No. I'm not gonna make excuses like that. It's not true. If I knew that you existed, I would've done everything in my power to make him tell me where you were."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Well, you shouldn't. You don't know me. If you think I'd lie to make him look better, you couldn't be more wrong." She shook her head. "You can blame Reddington for a lot of things—god knows I do—but this, here, today? Would've happened anyway. I would've demanded that he bring me here as soon as he could. Even if he didn't want to. Especially if he didn't want to," she added, almost an afterthought.

Dom still looked dubious. "Reddington has a way of making a person feel like they've made their own decision, but in reality it was his choice all along."

"Look. This isn't gonna work if you won't listen to me. I didn't choose to come here and put you on the spot, but the only reason I didn't is because I didn't know about you at all. If you won't take my word for that, we're not gonna get anywhere. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't presume to know me better than I know myself."

Dom frowned, studying her face with world-weary eyes and a deep furrow between his brows. Liz couldn't tell if he was starting to believe her or if he was simply pitying her for deluding herself about Red.

"How am I supposed to give Reddington the benefit of the doubt when he was the one who got you into this mess? He put a target on your back when he came into your life. After all the effort we put into making sure you were safe and hidden, he gave The Cabal a road map right to you. You wouldn't need to come here seeking refuge from a manhunt if not for him."

"Maybe that's true. Maybe he made me a target by coming into my life. But believe me when I say I made _myself_ a threat. I proved it when I pulled the trigger on Tom Connolly."

Dom's frown deepened. "So you really did kill him."

"Of course I did."

"I wasn't sure. The Cabal has a certain… reputation."

"For setting people up? Like they did with Reddington?"

"Masha…"

Liz flinched and looked away. Whenever someone called her Masha, it made her feel so… uneasy. She wasn't _Masha_. As far as her more intact memories were concerned, she never had been. "I prefer Liz," she said, risking eye contact again.

"Reddington calls you Lizzy."

"Not all the time. Besides—" she shrugged—"that's… different."

Dom leaned away slightly, his lip curled in subtle distaste and suspicion. "I don't think I want to know what that's supposed to mean."

Liz could have denied that there was anything credible about the conclusions Dom had surely jumped to, but she didn't want to begin building their relationship on lies. She stayed silent. If he read anything into her silence, so be it.

Whatever he read into it was probably true, anyway. Recently, at least.

"I know this can't be easy. I know just seeing me is probably gonna bring up a lot of painful memories for you. The thing is, I don't have _any_ memories of my mother. None that I can trust. There's so much I want to know."

Dom shuffled from foot to foot, ran a restless hand up the back of his neck. "We can talk about your mother in the morning. It's getting late. We should have dinner, get some sleep. Only I wasn't prepared for company. The cupboards are bare. I go shopping on Monday mornings, when it's quiet."

"We can order in tonight. Reddington will pay for everything."

"You bet your ass he will."

"Can't you tell me something now, about her? Just one thing?"

"Your mother was a… complicated person," he said, and shook his head, falling silent for a long moment. Liz opened her mouth, afraid he was going to stop there, but he managed to find his voice again.

"I'm the last person in the world who would call her a saint. I raised her—I saw the consequences of the choices she made up close. She was brilliant. Beautiful. Brutal." Dom looked up and caught her gaze, and his eyes were red-rimmed with unshed tears. "I mourn the little girl she was. The woman she became… is more difficult to miss."

"If she was so bad, what did Reddington do that makes you blame him for what happened to her?"

Dom took a deep breath and let it out slowly, struggling, it seemed, to condense decades of resentment into a simple answer.

"He made me think she could change," he said.

* * *

Dom and Liz found Red in the living room, taking stock of the supplies he retrieved from the car. The tension between the two men hardly lessened while they bickered over their Chinese food order and how much to tip the delivery boy, or while they shot wary looks at each other as they ate in uncomfortable silence. And it certainly didn't lessen any when Dom brought them a couple old blankets once they all decided it was time to turn in for the night.

"It might be asking too much of someone like you," Dom said, holding the neatly folded stack out for Red to take, "but I'm going to assume you'll be a gentleman and sleep on the floor." He didn't wait for a reply; he simply turned on his heel, nodded goodnight to Liz, and began climbing the creaky stairs.

Liz sighed and took the top blanket from Red's arms, stepping back to assess the sofa. It wasn't fancy and it sure as hell wasn't new, but it had a sort of cozy charm to it. It probably wouldn't be the least comfortable place she'd ever slept.

While she was busy tucking the blanket into the cushions, Red shook out the second blanket and started to spread it out on the old, wide-planked floor.

"Lizzy, can you spare one of those throw pillows?"

"You're joking, right? You're not really gonna try to sleep down there." Red opened his mouth wordlessly, gesturing at his makeshift bedroll in exasperation. "What power does he have over you? Get over here."

Red pushed himself up from floor, his knees already protesting against the hard wood, and tossed Liz the extra blanket. He searched around for the light switch on the side table lamp and flicked it off before he crawled onto the sofa and squeezed himself against the back of it behind Liz.

It was a tight fit, but Liz didn't mind. She took Red's arm, which he had been holding stiffly against his side to avoid taking up too much space, and pulled it around her so his hand rested warmly on her abdomen.

Red exhaled heavily into her hair and allowed himself to relax for the first time since they trudged up to Dom's property. He tightened his arm around her for a moment, hugging her close; Liz was sure she felt his lips ghost over the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her attention on the sound and the feeling of his breathing to lull herself to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

A sudden loud noise jolted Liz awake on the lumpy, narrow couch in her grandfather's living room. She jerked reflexively at the sound and Red shied his lower half away from hers, lest he take a knee to someplace sensitive. Absently, she realized that she and Red must have turned around during the night; they were facing each other on the couch now and somehow she'd managed to wedge one of her thighs between his. She blinked in confusion, searching around the still-dark living room for the source of the sound that woke her.

"Rise and shine," came Dom's gruff voice from the doorway, made even gruffer by a night of disuse. He pulled open the shades with a rough flourish, but the action lost some of its dramatic effect due to the fact that the sun had barely even begun to rise outside the window.

"Dom, what the hell?"

Red rubbed the sleep from his eyes while Liz attempted to disentangle herself from him and the worn-out sofa cushions. He sat up slowly, fighting off a yawn, and Liz suppressed the impulse to put a soothing hand on his back.

"You, Reddington, are in no position to complain. You show up at my house unannounced and impose on my hospitality, you wake up when I wake up."

"What is it, 5 AM?" Lizzy asked, grabbing Red's forearm and squinting at the watch on his wrist.

A shadow of sympathy passed over Dom's careworn features. "4:30."

"Good God, why?" Red whined.

Dom lifted his chin and said, "My house, my rules."

Red groaned and buried his face in his hands, looking more like a defeated lump on the couch than a notorious criminal mastermind. Again, Liz fought the instinct to reach for him in a comforting way. They were both somewhat on guard here, in a way they weren't when they were around people who didn't know them; sure, Dom wouldn't turn them over to the FBI, but each and every one of their interactions around him was analyzed and filtered through his resentment of Red, and Liz could feel the weight of his judgement like a stone around her neck, a constant, distracting presence.

If he was surprised that Liz and Red had gone against his wishes and shared the couch last night, he didn't show it, but he also didn't seem particularly pleased with the turn of events. It made him uncomfortable, to have found them like he had. He seemed almost resigned to it, though. Whatever _it_ was.

"I'm heading into town today for groceries and other supplies. I can pick up a few things for you, if there's anything you need."

Liz exchanged a glance with Red, but he said nothing. It seemed like he was going to spend most of their time here either following her lead or Dom's. "You go shower first," she said quietly. "I'll… I'll come up with a list of things we could use in town."

Red nodded and pushed himself up from the sofa with more than a little difficulty, padding off in search of the bathroom. Chances were they'd both be suffering from some stiff muscles and achiness today, but at least it was better than if either of them had slept on the cold, hard floor.

Liz followed Dom into the kitchen, where he pointed to a steaming mug on the counter. "I made coffee. I don't know how you take yours, but your mother…" He trailed off with a shrug; he was much more subdued around her alone, almost apologetic after how he woke her. They were still strangers, but he was trying. She had to give him credit for that.

"I'm sure it's lovely, thank you. It's much appreciated, believe me."

The ceramic was warm and grounding under Liz's fingers when she wrapped them around the mug; she bent her head and took a tentative sip. It was a little sweeter than she liked, and it had a little too much cream, but after all the time she'd spent on the run without a guaranteed source of coffee every morning, it was more than good enough for her. Basic, grocery store coffee had something of a nostalgic appeal to it after drinking so much truck stop and gas station stuff. (It might've even been the brand Sam used to use, before the local coffee shop downtown started offering a loyalty program when she was in high school. She couldn't be sure, but it tasted familiar. It tasted like home.)

Liz and Dom quietly sipped their coffee while she scribbled down some of the essentials she and Red were running low on, and added a few things she rarely got a chance to have with their limited space and even more limited resources. Once she was finished, she handed the list over to Dom, who balanced a pair of reading glasses on the end of his nose and looked it over, nodding slightly as he read. He was the image of a quintessential grandpa; it was such a bizarre feeling to know he was _hers_. Sitting down drinking coffee with someone who was actually _related_ to her for the first time in her memory—who would've thought it was possible?

Dom folded up the paper, tucked it away in his breast pocket with his glasses, and offered Liz an awkward smile.

"Will you tell me about her now?" she asked, gently.

"I guess I can't avoid it forever, can I?"

"I don't know, you talked a pretty good game with Reddington last night if you're only gonna chicken out now."

"My bark is bound to get me in trouble one day. My bite leaves something to be desired." He rubbed a sheepish hand over the back of his neck and sighed. "Where do I even start?"

"Maybe you could tell me what she was like as a little girl?"

"No," he said, his tone clipped and final. His blunt refusal took Lizzy aback and her surprise must have shown on her face, because he clarified almost immediately. "Not this time," he explained. "Those memories still hurt too much. And in any case, they won't give you a good illustration of who she really was, in the end."

Liz's stomach fell. "Right. I understand."

And she did understand. She just wished she didn't. It wasn't a comforting thing to know that it didn't matter much if her mother was a perfect little angel when she was young, that the choices she made when she was older informed who she was far more than that.

Even still, no amount of steeling herself could've prepared Liz for the story Dom began to tell, a sordid story of obsession and revenge, fueled by her mother's strange ambition to make herself invaluable and indispensable to her handlers at almost any cost. Nothing could have prepared her for the sick feeling of recognition when Dom described her mother's interest in a government project she uncovered while spying on the US.

When Liz told Dom she already knew about the project, he was surprised, but she certainly wasn't. The Warrior Gene—she'd known for months that she carried it, had known it couldn't be a coincidence that she did. It just wasn't how Red operated. He wouldn't have brought her that case if he didn't have a greater reason for it.

It was her origin story, she supposed, as unsavory as it was. It made her sick to her stomach to know that she wasn't so much the product of love, but a byproduct of the obsession of dangerous minds. Oh, maybe her mother didn't initially intend to use her own child in her quest for influence—mostly because she hadn't intended to have a child at all—but once Liz was born, she certainly had few qualms about taking advantage of the fact that she had access to someone with the warrior gene from birth. The temptation was far too strong for her to resist it.

And Liz's father, whoever he was? He was hardly any better. When her mother insinuated herself into his life, he'd been just another assignment, much like Liz was for Tom. Then things had gone terribly wrong, like they had with Tom. Her mother was manipulative and emotionally abusive, her father physically so—if they ever truly loved each other, it was a twisted, damaged kind of love.

"She didn't want us to be close," Dom said, sadly. "She didn't want you to be close to anyone but her. If I could have done more, I would have. But there was always a chance with your mother that if you pushed too hard, it would backfire spectacularly. She could have cut me out of her life. I could have lost contact with her. I thought… if I at least continued to have access to your mother, to you, I might still have some influence on her. As it turned out, no one could reach her. Not me. Not Reddington."

"The only person who could've saved her was herself."

"But that's not true. _You_ saved her. Unfortunately, she didn't see it that way. She was doomed long before she met your father, but their relationship, volatile as it was, hastened her fall. And his death? Well. Like I said, she was already doomed before she met him." Dom sighed. "I'm sorry. None of this was a… a happy story."

"I'm not a kid anymore. It's been a long time since I needed a fairy tale ending."

Dom rubbed his hands on his thighs, clearly uncomfortable with all of the information he just dumped on Liz. He looked around the kitchen, anxious to find something, anything at all, to break the tension in the room, and quickly settled on the coffee pot still sitting on the warming plate in the machine.

"Here, let me get you a refill."

Liz generally stuck to one cup of coffee these days, partly so as not to set off the low-level anxiety that defined her every waking moment (as well as some of her sleeping ones) and partly for… other reasons. Chances were Dom wasn't going to go out of his way to offer Red any coffee at all, so she accepted the refill anyway and took it with her when she went off in search of him.


	4. Chapter 4

Liz eventually found Red in the garage, rummaging through old boxes of sentimental trinkets. When he heard her approach, his head snapped up, but his shoulders slumped in relief when he saw that she was alone.

"Hey. I thought you might like some coffee."

"Thank you, Lizzy." He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, closed his eyes and inhaled the delicious aroma. Liz put her hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles ease under her fingers.

"Where's Dom?"

"Off to get groceries."

"Right."

As if on cue, they heard Dom's car rumble to life in the driveway; the sound soon faded off into the distance. Finally, they were alone.

Red exhaled heavily, grateful for the respite from Dom's looming presence. "We didn't talk last night. Frankly, I'm surprised you're still speaking to me. I can only imagine what he told you."

"My mother came off a lot worse than you did, to be honest, but I don't know if Dom thinks so. To him, you're the big bad American spy who tried and failed to save his little girl. It's not like you forced her to become obsessed with the goddamn Warrior Gene."

"He told you about that, huh?" He shook his head. "I was hoping he'd be a little more tactful, but Dom is Dom. Straightforward and matter of fact, even if it'll gut you. He has a knack for it, I'll give him that."

Red set his half-drunk mug down on one of the boxes stacked next to him. "How are you holding up, Lizzy? I know you weren't prepared for any of this."

Liz took a deep breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips. "My mother… was a bad person," she said, haltingly, not really answering his question at all. "You tried to warn me, but I kept clinging to the fantasy version of her I've carried around in my head since before I can remember. You could've told me so many things… so many awful, terrible things. But you didn't."

"I didn't want you to think I was speaking ill of her out of any kind of ulterior motive. Every girl deserves to have a mother she can look up to."

"Deserves to, maybe. Doesn't mean it's realistic." Liz shook her head. "It's silly. I don't know why it mattered so much to me. Sam was more than enough growing up. I got by just fine without a mother to look up to then."

"It's not silly. Losing your mother as a child… it's devastating. Sometimes talking about it—hell, even _thinking_ about it—rips open old wounds you thought were long healed. Of _course_ this hurts. You're losing her all over again. Even if it's only that idealized image of her you're losing now."

A thought caught hold of Liz's attention, like a loose thread. And like a loose thread, she was tempted to pull it. Too tempted. She'd never been very good at resisting temptation when an idea truly stuck in her head. (Maybe she had that in common with her mother.)

"Did you…" She trailed off; perhaps it was better she didn't bring it up after all.

"Did I what, Lizzy?"

Liz bit her lip. "You lost your mother when you were young, didn't you?"

The corner of Red's mouth twitched up in a sad smile. "Am I that transparent?"

"Only when you don't want to be," she said, mirroring his smile. "I'm sorry. About whatever happened to your mother."

"I'm sorry about yours. If there was anything else I could've done to help her, I would have. I promise you that."

"Maybe it's for the best that she didn't raise me. I was barely more than a prop to her, a pawn, an experiment."

"You were so much more than that."

"Not to her."

"Yes, you were. She loved you. Inasmuch as she was capable of loving anyone."

"She sure had a fucked up way of showing it."

"She wanted to make sure you were equipped to survive in her world; exposing you to the Warrior conditioning would help her do that. But, yeah, it was still pretty fucked up."

Liz found it oddly endearing to hear Red borrow her phrasing, though she wished he had used the profanity in a different context so she could properly savor it.

"Did any of it stick, do you think?"

"The conditioning?"

"Yeah. Is that maybe why I… why I find it so difficult sometimes to…" Words failed Liz as she tried to verbalize what exactly her difficulty was—why she sometimes clung so desperately to people who hurt her despite knowing deep down how damaging it was, and why she was so damn resistant to opening herself up to accepting care and concern from others, out of fear that they might hurt her, too. It was frustrating and counterproductive, but try as she might, she couldn't shake it.

"I don't know," he said, softly. "I know that's not the answer you want, but—"

"I'll probably pass the gene on to my kids, won't I?" she interrupted.

"Probably. Especially if…" He trailed off, with an aborted shrug.

"If the father has it, too," she finished for him; his reluctance to do so himself lent weight to a pet theory of hers.

"It'll be all right. It's not really a predictor of anything. Not in and of itself. It's only through very specific extenuating circumstances that it would ever become a problem."

"Like if The Cabal knew I carried the gene and I had a child…?"

"I would burn them to the ground if they ever tried to harm your child," Red all but growled, after a tense moment.

The two of them lapsed into a thick silence, the weight of an unknown future and a misspent past heavy in the air around them. Dom had kept many of his daughter's childhood mementos in the boxes that filled the garage, and perhaps even some of Liz's, as well. She felt detached sifting through the childish drawings and toys with Red, maybe even a little voyeuristic. There was no emotion to be felt about these artifacts of a forgotten time; they sparked no recovered memories and they were significant only because she _knew_ they once belonged to her family, to her, not because she felt any recognition.

"Look, Lizzy," Red said, after taking the lid off of another old box. "Isn't this something?"

Liz peeked inside to find petrified macaroni art stuffed in between dried up bottles of school glue and half-empty jars of glitter; she crossed her arms and hugged them around herself, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. "I'll stick to crayons, thanks."

Red picked up one of the jars and poured an obscene amount of glitter onto his hand.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"What's the matter? You don't like glitter?"

"Nooo. I hate glitter with every fiber of my being. I got a piece in my eye when I was a kid and Sam couldn't get me to calm down until we finally got it out again. At 2 AM."

"Oh, come on, Lizzy. It can't be that bad. Don't you want to make masterpieces like this someday with little…"

"Agnes," she offered.

His eyes lit up and he gave her a lopsided grin. "Agnes?"

"For Sam's mother," she said, with a wistful smile. (Maybe those strangers from Sam's photographs were more her family than she realized.)

"Don't you want to make masterpieces like this someday with little Agnes or… or Sam the Second or—"

She raised an eyebrow. "Dom?"

"Perhaps. Personally, I think Raymond is a good strong name."

Liz barked out a laugh. "Oh, really?"

Red nodded cheekily, almost proud of himself. "Did you know that it means protector?"

She scrunched up her face. "That's a little on the nose, isn't it?"

"I'll show you 'on the nose', sweetheart."

"Reddington, _what the hell are you doing?"_

Red advanced on her, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. When he got close enough to almost touch her with his glitter-coated hands, she shrieked and made a run for the door.

"You bastard!" she called over her shoulder as she raced through the snow-covered yard and ducked behind a line of trees. "We're not dressed for this!"

Despite her protests, Liz bent down to scoop up enough snow for a healthy snowball and began packing it tightly together with what little heat was left in her hands. She yelped in surprise as Red's arms came around her from behind and she spun herself around, using his momentum and his own surprise to knock him off balance. They toppled over together, sinking into the top layers of snow, and Liz took advantage of Red's lapse in attention to smash her snowball into his face.

Red sputtered and blinked, gazing up at Liz with a faux innocence made all the more ridiculous by the streaks of glitter clinging to his cheeks and peppered through his hair. What an absurd picture he made, staring at her like that. Laughter bubbled out of her, uncontrollable and infectious, spreading to Red as quickly as his stupid glitter had spread to her.

Oh, it felt so good to laugh, such deep, cathartic belly laughs, even as the cold air started to steal the breath in their lungs.

The waning morning sunlight caught the glitter and the powdery snow on Red's face, causing them to sparkle brilliantly. Liz's breath stuttered to a stop and her stomach flipped, and before she could think better of it, she leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss.

The noise Red made—the little gasp of surprise that morphed into a grateful whimper… That was Liz's favorite part of kissing him. He always seemed so reverent, so… appreciative, to have her lips on his.

They'd barely even kissed since that night in the shipping container, just a stolen moment here and there when the stress became too overwhelming and Red would calm her in the best way he knew how. He took her so carefully into his arms, took her face between his hands and made her feel like she wasn't alone. It was more of a comfort thing than a sexual one, or even a sensual one. Even still, Liz was almost ashamed by how much relief she felt just having his responsive lips beneath her own again, how much she needed it.

It was nice to know she could mean so much, even to one other human being. It was nice to know she could mean so much to _Red_ , who dropped everything to come and guide her through this abyss of her own making after she killed Connolly. And on that fateful night aboard the container ship, he had let his guard down long enough for her to get a glimpse of the man she thought she knew so well, yet not at all.

Yes, it had been far too long.

All of a sudden, the front door of the house slammed shut; Liz and Red sprang apart, meeting each other's eyes in silent panic.


	5. Chapter 5

Liz and Red found Dom standing in the kitchen with groceries half-unloaded on the counter in front of him. If they had any doubt whatsoever he had seen them in the yard, it was wiped away at the piercing look he shot them.

Dom made a sweeping gesture at the food he'd bought for Liz and she winced mentally. She had tipped her hand; cravings were a cruel mistress and seeing everything laid out next to each other made it obvious cravings were exactly what informed her choices.

"You're pregnant," Dom said, almost an accusation.

Liz swallowed hard, and nodded. It was the first time she'd acknowledged it to another human being, even though she knew Red suspected. More than suspected. He knew even when she was still in denial, when she was trying to rationalize her missed periods away due to the stress of being on the run or how her cycle had never really been as consistent and regular as it should be. And Red doted on her—whenever and as much as he could get away with, even though it was dangerous in their precarious situation to indulge her more obscure cravings terribly often.

Dom turned his attention to Red. "Is it yours?" he demanded; this time there was a definite accusation in his tone.

Red and Liz exchanged a look. "It might be," she said, answering for him.

Dom turned away in a huff and began to put away the things he had bought for himself, and none too gently at that.

Liz watched him shoving boxes and cans into his cabinets for a few tense moments before she found her voice again. "You're upset."

"I'm going to be a great-grandfather. Why would I be upset?" Dom said, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm and condescension. "I should be thrilled that Raymond fucking Reddington knocked up my _granddaughter_."

Liz felt Red flinch at her side; he'd been unnaturally still since this whole exchange started, so it was difficult to miss. "Dom, I—"

"Shut the hell up!" Dom snapped. "Get out of my kitchen."

To Liz's surprise, Red went, fleeing the room like a scalded cat; she turned to follow him.

"No, not you, M… Elizabeth. I don't mean you should leave."

"No, sorry. We're a package deal. You don't get me without him." She made another move for the door.

"Wait, please, you have to understand… You're my flesh and blood. You're all that's left of my little girl. But I don't know you." He jabbed his finger in the direction Red had fled. "And it's _his_ fault I don't.

"Oh, he made his case very convincing, you know. He said it would be too dangerous for me to be in your life after your mother was gone. If even a hint of our connection got out, you would be at risk. And then not only does he waltz back into your life despite all the risks and get you mixed up with The Cabal, he gets you…" He trailed off with a slash of his hand, mouth curled in disgust. "I swear to god, if he's ever laid a hand on you in a way you didn't want…"

"No, of course he hasn't. I understand that you think Red is literally the devil, but you've gotta know he has a code. He flirts. He tests boundaries. He doesn't… He's not like that. And I don't appreciate the implication that I had no say in any of this. Reddington's not some all-powerful puppet master pulling my strings. It may seem like that from the outside looking in, but you're _not_ on the outside. You hate him, I get it, but hate him for things he's actually done. You're a smart man; don't be so intellectually dishonest."

"But why him? Why Reddington?"

"I don't think you'd understand. I don't think most people would." Liz sighed. "To be honest, I don't think the two of us really do, either. We've had a complicated relationship since he came into my life. It's been very… intense. Not always pleasant. But whenever I think I might lose him, it feels like I'm losing a piece of myself.

"I would like to have you in my life from now on, if it's possible. I never dreamed I would have an opportunity like this. But if I'm in your life, Reddington is, too. Especially considering the baby."

"You see yourself and Reddington raising that baby?"

Dom's question brought Liz up short. _Did_ she see herself and Red raising the baby? He was always so sweet with kids. All of his darkness melted away and the man beneath the facade began to shine through; it was like a window into the past, to see a glimpse of the once regular guy who got caught up in madness. Tom, on the other hand, looked at anyone younger than about five like they might vomit on him at any moment.

If, by some miracle, there was a way Liz might be able to raise a baby in the chaos her life had become, why wouldn't she prefer Red as the father?

"Honestly? I don't know what I see. But the point I'm making still stands. You gotta be civil with him. That's all I ask. You and I are never really gonna be able to get anywhere if you keep chasing him away every time something happens that reminds you of the past. We've all made our beds here; now we've gotta lie in them.

"Whatever you think of Reddington, he's been with me on this crazy journey every step of the way. Even when I thought I could go it alone, he was there, waiting to catch me if I fell. And, oh, have I fallen…"

Dom frowned. "Why _did_ you shoot that man? I know the theories are all wrong. You're no spy. You never even knew your mother."

Liz bit her lip and dug a nail into the center of the scar on her wrist, lest she lose herself in the memory of that day not so long ago, in the crack of the bullet, the scent of burnt gunpowder, the fabric of Red's jacket under her cheek as she drifted off to sleep.

"Tom Connolly was as corrupt as they come. He was part of The Cabal, that's probably not a surprise. He threatened me, my task force… It was a nightmare. Then he threatened Red with the death penalty. It felt… real. Immediate. I couldn't let it happen." She shrugged. "So I shot him."

"It was for Reddington."

Liz nodded. "He doesn't know."

"Why haven't you told him?"

"Because he hates himself enough without me adding the catalyst for a goddamn manhunt to his conscience. I killed Connolly to protect him. That doesn't mean it's his fault."

Dom regarded her silently for a long moment, rubbing his thumb over his scruffy chin thoughtfully.

"That's not a new thing—you trying to protect him." At her confused expression, he continued. "You don't remember, do you? It shouldn't surprise me. You were so young."

"What do you mean?"

"The night of the fire," he said, nodding towards her scar. "You know he was there? He was injured in the confusion. Burning debris from the ceiling above him landed on his back, knocked him unconscious. He would have died if you hadn't managed to rouse him. The man is so pathetic, he needed a four-year-old child to save his life."

"Hey, watch it, what did I say?" Liz warned; Dom harrumphed at being chastised. "He's saved my life, too, you know."

"You wouldn't have been in danger in the first place if not for him."

Liz scoffed. "No offense, but my mother was a Russian spy."


	6. Chapter 6

When Red was anxious, he tinkered. He fixed things. That's why when Liz caught up with him again, he was bent over the back of Dom's piano, attempting to tune it after replacing a broken key he had discovered the night before while he noodled around as they waited for their food to be delivered. (Much to Dom's chagrin, of course.)

Liz could read a hell of a lot into it if she chose to—that Red's first instinct, the thing he chose to do to feel grounded in the world was to repair, to create, rather than to destroy. If only she understood that this was his tendency from the beginning; the first time she really got a glimpse of it was when he gave her that music box and by then so many of her opinions of him had already solidified.

Dismantling her first impressions took time and conscious effort. She thought spending time around Dom might help her in that quest, because it was much easier to see the real Red when she took a step outside of herself and explained her understanding of him to someone else. Especially someone whose own opinion of him was so decidedly dim.

Liz smiled softly as she watched Red work. A smattering of glitter still clung to his short-cropped hair; she had a feeling they'd be finding the horrid stuff in the most inconvenient places for weeks. That would be a hell of a thing to explain to Ressler if, god forbid, the task force caught up to them anytime soon.

"Hey. You almost done?"

"Just about." Red grunted as he hauled himself upright again. "That should do it," he said, rubbing at a crick in his neck. (Sleeping on the old couch had not been kind to either of them; she almost dreaded when they'd have to turn in for the night.)

Liz slid onto the piano bench and examined the old instrument. The new key was almost indistinguishable from the rest of them now; she tested it along with its brothers, running her fingers over the keys in succession. "Sounds much better."

Red came over to sit down next to her on the bench with his back to the keys and rubbed his hands along his thighs, wiping either real or imagined dust off onto his trousers.

"You play?" he asked, nodding towards her hand still poised over the keys. "I thought Sam mentioned something about lessons at one point."

"Oh, wow. I haven't thought about those lessons in years. Yeah, that didn't last long."

"How come?"

She sighed. "It was too frustrating for me. I didn't pick it up immediately and I didn't care enough to put in the work to really learn, so I let it go."

"That was very mature of you."

"Are you kidding? I had a total meltdown. I couldn't stand failing, even as a kid."

"Well, that's understandable."

"I guess," she said. "What about you? Did you learn when you were young? I bet it came easy for you."

He gave a halfhearted shrug. "I've always been good with my hands."

In another place, in another time, Red's statement would probably hold some innuendo, but surrounded by the odd air of solemnity in this place, it held none at all. Which was a shame, because it was true. He'd been an attentive lover that night on the container ship; it had taken every ounce of willpower Liz possessed to keep herself from approaching him again ever since.

The rare comforting, comfortable kiss had had to sustain her—and it had. But sometimes she still wished that they hadn't made the unspoken agreement to return to some semblance of the status quo after their night together. As she studied his profile in the warm light from Dom's old incandescent lamps, she couldn't help but wonder if they were missing out on something greater than they gave themselves credit for.

"We should probably think about leaving soon," Red said, after a long while of companionable silence. "Tomorrow, maybe the day after. We don't want to impose on Dom's—ehem— _hospitality_ for too much longer. Especially now that he knows we've been…" He made a face. "He might try to castrate me in my sleep."

"It's a little late for that."

"Speak for yourself," he said sharply, and crossed his legs pointedly.

Liz let out a huff of a laugh, shaking her head. "Listen, if anyone's gonna try to get at those particular parts of your anatomy, they'll have to go through me first."

He raised an eyebrow. "Anyone?"

" _Anyone_ ," she said, with exaggerated seriousness, punctuated after a beat with a wink. Red's mouth curved into a slow grin. It seemed he didn't mind at all that she would be so possessive of him. But then again, this _was_ the same man who had surrendered himself to her like a knight in the throes of courtly love. It wasn't terribly surprising he found the idea appealing. "Although I wouldn't mind having access again myself from time to time."

Red's cheeks went a bit pink. "Ehem. That could… be arranged."

There was that bashfulness again. Liz found it strange how shy Red was about sex since they'd slept together. Strange, but endearing. He seemed like a much younger, less confident man, rather than the worldly ladies' man his stories would imply he was. Like he was, indeed, still the man he used to be, the man she saw when he was around children, the man who lost everything. The man who very well could be the father of her unborn baby.

Liz's stomach dropped out from under her. "What are we gonna do?" she asked, with a breathless, fearful kind of desperation. She thought Red might not understand what she was truly asking and she'd have to verbalize how scared she was, but she needn't have worried. He reached back and lowered the fallboard over the keys so he could lean against the piano without pressing any of them. He studied her face, his eyes moving over the furrow in her brow and the worried curve of her mouth.

"Let's worry about getting you exonerated first. After that… We'll figure something out."

"The simplest solution is…"

"I know. But…"

"But."

Red took her hand, and cleared his throat. "Your fantasy, what you told me after your meeting with the Djinn…" He trailed off, his jaw working wordlessly for a moment. "Is that… something that you would ever want… with…"

"With you?"

He nodded faintly while he stared down at their hands, not daring to meet Liz's eyes after asking such a question. Did she dare to answer it? Even to herself?

Even when she and Tom were married, he never quite fit the husband-shaped hole in her fantasy. She figured it would come in time, that once they'd adopted their little girl, everything would eventually fall into place. It never even started to. Even now when she tried to picture him in that role, her gut churned with unease. She was afraid if she tried to picture Red instead that it would be impossible to ignore how well he might fill it—and once she knew, it would be impossible to forget it.

Everything about this situation was impossible, yet here they were. A few moments of vulnerability and the two of them had made their already complicated lives infinitely more complicated, while also throwing themselves headlong into inadvertently fulfilling some of their deepest, most closely-held desires. Of course, what she wanted the most was also absolutely the most dangerous.

"I want to keep the baby," she said, the only answer she could give so definitively at this particular crossroads. It was enough for Red, it seemed. Enough to leave open a sliver of hope that her answer to his specific question could also be yes.

He shifted abruptly on the piano bench, cradled the hand he held in both of his, and brought it up to his lips. "She'll never want for anything," he vowed, giving her hand a final squeeze before letting go. "Whether she's mine or not mine. It doesn't matter. I want you to know that."

"I know. I know. Thank you."

Bracing herself with one hand on his thigh, Liz cupped the side of his head with the other and leaned forward to kiss him. Red exhaled softly with his nose against her cheek, his voice catching in a sigh high in his throat. He tilted his head, pressing closer, chasing the spark they both tried so desperately to tamp down most of the time.

Out of breath, they pulled back only far enough to rest their foreheads against each other; Red reached for her hand again. "We can do this, you and I."

"That sounds familiar."

"Has it not been true for us so far? We _can_ do this. We can do whatever we put our minds to. We'll find a way. There are… contingency plans in place. Here, actually. If things start to look dire, if exoneration seems impossible, we come back here and set them in motion. It's a last resort, but if it's necessary, it'll be worth it."

"What does that entail?"

"We disappear. Or you and the baby do. Whatever you want."

"All of us. I would want it to be all of us."

"OK. All right. Yes."


	7. Chapter 7

Liz had just finished tying a bow in the drawstring of her sleep pants when Dom lugged a worn duffel bag into the living room and dropped it onto the couch next to Red.

"Now you can't claim I've never done anything for you," he said, and immediately turned and headed back the way he came.

"What's this?" Red called after him, perplexed.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" he said, over his shoulder. "Just don't come crying to me if it doesn't hold air anymore."

Red and Liz exchanged a puzzled look, and Red shrugged, reaching to undo the bag. He pulled out what appeared to be an old air mattress like the kind people took on camping trips, as well as a set of sheets that was only _slightly_ musty.

Red hummed his approval, pleasantly surprised at the turn of events. Their night was suddenly going to be a lot less… lumpy.

"He's making an effort," Liz said.

"That he is," he agreed.

Red set about inflating the air mattress with his usual brand of efficiency and methodical perfectionism. It was relaxing to watch him work, a sort of balm for the chaos that so often dwelled in Liz's mind these days. It gave her something to focus her attention on—something predictable, reassuringly normal, both of which were in short supply here on the run. Because one thing could certainly be counted on to be true in almost any circumstance: Red was, indeed, good with his hands.

Liz helped him stretch the fitted sheet around the mattress once it was sufficiently inflated, and she gathered up the blankets and pillows they'd used the night before from the couch to add to their new, much less makeshift bed. They stood shoulder to shoulder and surveyed their handiwork, only to smile shyly at each other and laugh softly after a few moments. It was such a simple thing to be proud of in the grand scheme of things, but it still felt like an accomplishment.

Once the two of them slipped under the blankets and shifted around to find a suitable position to sleep in, Liz let out a heavy sigh. Red had wrapped his arms around her and tucked his legs up under hers, fitting his knees against the back of her knees with warmth and support.

She hadn't felt properly warm since the morning, what with the snowball fights and running around outside without a real winter coat on, but being surrounded by Red's presence like this was starting to defrost the chill that had settled into her bones. She hugged his arms tighter around her abdomen, pressing his splayed hand against her belly; he exhaled against the back of her neck, nuzzling closer there, too.

As she drifted off to sleep, Liz's mind started to wander and she allowed herself to imagine for the first time what it would be like to run away from all this with Red. Forget exoneration, forget The Cabal—just bail, leave, never look back…

If things were calmer, quieter, how would they be with each other? Would they communicate better? Would they be able to further dismantle the wall separating them? Liz thought maybe they could. If there was anything the last few weeks had taught her, it was that their relationship—fraught and heady and complicated though it was—could shift and adapt to become just about anything and any form it needed to.

What _would_ it be like to build a family with this man? What would it be like to fall asleep next to him every night, to wake up in his arms every morning? To have him by her side for the trials and tribulations that came with a normal life—like when she went into labor, maybe—rather than the constant barrage of extraordinary events that currently defined their existence?

She would never be an afterthought for Red, that much she was sure of. Even when her choices complicated his life—holding Tom captive, refusing to hand over The Fulcrum, shooting Connolly—helping her took a certain priority over everything else. She knew the same would be true for the baby. She would've known regardless of his assurances. It was clear in everything he did. He would go to the ends of the earth to protect her; that drive would obviously extend to their child.

Liz's chest tightened painfully. Listening to the siren's call of a possible future, even if only for a few minutes, made her feel like she was suffocating from the injustice of it all. Sleeping with Red that night on the container ship had been one of the easiest decisions she'd ever made, despite the consequences. It just wasn't fair that dealing with those consequences wouldn't be nearly as easy.

She knew deep down that it would be wiser in the long run to follow through with Red's plan, to be exonerated if it was at all possible. That way she wouldn't have to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, wondering when The Cabal or the FBI would catch up to her. But still, she'd been accused of so much more than she was guilty of… Wasn't it understandable to want to disappear forever? Why trust the same system that set her up to set her free?

"Red? Are you still awake?"

"Yeah."

"I was just wondering… what I mean is…"

Liz trailed off and swallowed to try to clear the lump in her throat. Why was this so hard to put into words?

"We shouldn't bring the contingency stuff you've got stashed here with us when we leave, should we? Even though it would be easier to run if we had it?"

Red didn't answer for a long time, not making any noise save for the sound of him inhaling the scent of her hair at the nape of her neck. He understood what she was asking between the lines. Of course he did. He didn't look so heartbroken when she described her fantasy of having a family to him for nothing. She hadn't really understood his reaction then, but now it was starting to make sense. He longed to be part of the family in her fantasy, although he didn't believe it was his place.

Well, it could be his place. Maybe it would be. Maybe that's how this would end.

But even if she was exonerated, wouldn't it still be impossible? How on earth would the task force react to finding out she was pregnant, anyway? Would they jump to the conclusion that the baby was Tom's? Or would they suspect what seemed obvious to her—that after spending so much time alone together, Red was the more viable candidate?

"I don't know, Lizzy. I… I'm afraid doing that would be…"

"Playing with fire?"

"That's a good term for it."

"That's too bad," she said, and her voice sounded terribly small.

"Yeah. It is."

They fell silent for a crushingly long moment, both of them more than aware that the other was still awake and imagining might have been and what could be.

"Red?" Liz asked again, only this time her voice cracked on his name.

"Come here, sweetheart," he said, and coaxed her to turn to face him.

Liz wrapped her arms around Red's shoulders and buried her face in the crook of his neck while he whispered soothing nonsense into her hair. She inhaled, deep and slow, and exhaled just the same, over and over as she waited for the sting of tears to subside, for the urge to sob her heart out into his soft cotton undershirt to pass.


End file.
